GREY LIGHT, GREEN and grey in the grass and clover. The washer cycles through the morning. K beats a yellow ball with a stick, pieces of a floor puzzle scattered on the rug. A black buzzard flew by yesterday. We watched it arc past our house and down behind trees along Boggy Creek.
And acacia blossoms
seemed as if
floating where K played
in gravel and
chalk walking barefoot—
hear the cars
go round
people doing their
thing.
And there's a bee on my knee and there's goo in my shoe. Rain in my brain and mist in my fist. There's a goose on my tooth and a barn on my arm. A goat in my throat and a bear in my hair. K laughs. Wants more paper chains. Hoa puts on her shoes. Gonna walk this baby out.